


Afternoon Rounds

by calypsid



Series: Care and Feeding [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Dress Uniform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calypsid/pseuds/calypsid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus has never seen her in dress blues before.</p><p>(Care and Feeding is a series of stand-alone one-shots.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon Rounds

Shepard's got a bad taste in her mouth when she comes out of the conference room. It tastes like diplomacy. Her people are fighting the Reapers invading her homeworld, millions are dying every day, and she has to sit there and trade favors like some back-alley procurement droid? On what planet does that make sense?

Tuchanka, apparently. And Palaven. And Sur'Kesh.

She's got a great head of steam worked up by the time Specialist Traynor notifies her that something's off with Cortez. She hasn't made rounds yet today, and that sounds like the perfect excuse to start at the bottom and work her way up. She can't take Joker in this mood. Shepard suspects that EDI might be upset if she snaps his head off and uses it for a footrest.

Steve is grieving, and unfortunately she knows all too well that nothing she says or does will help. She offers to listen anyway, and while he won't take her up on it, she wishes he would. Javik and Liara are sniping at each other when she goes by, and that always leaves both of them in an awful mood, so she skips them altogether and catches up with Donnelly and Daniels. Now that they're on board, the Normandy feels better, lighter, more like home.

Maybe it's just that she's riding smoother. She should ask EDI at some point.

Chakwas takes one look at her tight, drawn face and offers her an analgesic. Shepard sighs and takes it, dry-swallowing with the ease of long practice, and ducks back out to visit Garrus.

Garrus is not helping her headache. She thought she'd made herself clear after their reunion talk, but he's still a little distant, hesitating before he touches her, studying her through his visor when they talk. She doesn't know what he needs, but if this doesn't let up soon, she'll have to do something she doesn't want to do: use her words.

Sometimes she wonders why she missed the skinny bastard.

And then she opens the battery doors, and she remembers. She leans against the frame, waiting for him to look up from tinkering with one of his scopes. He doesn't have a stool, and he's a little too tall for the human standard issue weapon modification benches, so he's got his elbows down on the top of the bench, huddled over in a way she knows will hurt him later. She'd forgotten how delicate his fingers can be, how precise his movements, the way he tilts his head for a different view when he's having problems. She'd forgotten a lot of things. Six months is a long time.

Maybe that's why he's been so reluctant.

He presses the endcap back on with one powerful snap. For a skinny bastard, he's stronger than he looks. "Shepard," he says without turning. "Sorry. I've lost one too many microscopic connectors to stop in the middle of reassembling this." He drops it onto the bench with a carelessness that makes her wince and stands, rotating his arms and stretching out his back. 

"If I had a problem with standing here watching you calibrate, I could have gone and done paperwork," Shepard says, crossing her arms.

Garrus laughs and turns around, speaking as he does. "So I'm only better than – " He stops mid-sentence and looks her up and down.

"What?" Shepard says, straightening, dropping her arms. 

"I've never seen you in _that_ before," he says, stepping closer. His voice has dropped. She knows what that means, and it sends a thrill down her spine. She moves out of the doorframe to let the doors close behind her.

"Yeah," she says, looking down at herself. "I was kind of hoping they'd forget to send this one on. It's a pain."

"This is... a dress uniform?" Garrus asks, taking her hand and lifting it toward his face so he can examine the sleeve.

"We call them dress blues," Shepard says. She's grinning on the inside – he's so fascinated by the strangest things: the little bumps that mark her spine, buttons, the points of her canines. Then again, she's sure he's amused by the little things she finds fascinating about him.

"We have a similar phrase," Garrus murmurs. He runs an inquisitive finger down the gold braid over her breast, dipping down toward her waist, and then he puts his arm around her and drags her in, inch by inch. She's not fighting him, but she's not helping him either, content to make life difficult for him. 

When every inch of her is flush against him, Garrus drops his forehead onto hers. "You look..." He sighs, content. "Amazing."

Shepard smirks. "You're not looking so bad yourself, soldier," she says, flicking his cowl with her fingernail just to hear his armor ring. "I'm just happy you're not running around in the suit you got your face blown off in. It was a real mood killer."

"Armor integrity is so sexy," he agrees.

"And don't think I haven't noticed _this_ ," she says, trailing her fingers down his neck to tug on the collar of his blue and white undersuit. "I'll have to make a more thorough inspection of it later, but... I'm not done making my rounds." Shepard regretfully pulls away. She only makes it about an inch before he locks his arms around her, preventing her from moving. 

Well. He's not hesitating _now_. Damn it. 

" _Garrus_ ," she says, warning him. 

"You've only got Joker left," Garrus says, pulling her back to him, nuzzling her hair with his nose. She can hear him taking long, deep breaths, smelling her. 

Did she shower this morning? She hates that she can't remember. 

She gives up for the moment and lets herself cuddle, her arms around his waist. "He sulks if I skip him," she says into his armor. "Like a teenager. It's really unattractive."

Garrus snorts. "You want him to be attractive? Should I be worried?"

She thumps him. "Take that back, you pointy bastard, or I'll tell him who stripped all of the lube out of the bearings in his chair to make it squeak when he moves."

The silence that answers her is golden and beautiful, and she enjoys every second of it. "I, uh," Garrus says eventually, clearing his throat. "How did you know that was me?"

She tips her head back, smiling smugly. "I know everything, Garrus."

Wait, hadn't she been angry an hour ago?

Her smile softens, and she touches his face, traces his mandible and the worst of the scars. "How do you always know what I need?"

He turns his face into her hand, closing his eyes. "Just lucky, I guess."

She doesn't have to ask him who the lucky one is. She already knows the answer. 

"So the way I figure it," she says lightly, stroking his nose with her thumb, "if we leave now, you could be naked and in my bed waiting for me by the time I'm done checking in with Joker."

Garrus kisses her, one hard press against her mouth, and nips her lower lip. "I really like the way you think," he growls, and they go through the door together, like always.


End file.
